Yeonwoo let out a brief laugh, and Chahyun raised an eyebrow as if to ask what was so funny.
“Why’d you come out dressed like that?”
“Huh? Ah, the clothes?”
“You look stupid.”
“And you’re in the mood to joke right now?”
“You didn’t have to rush over. You could’ve taken your time.”
It felt strange—seeing Baek Chahyun, dressed ridiculously, with messy bed hair, sitting in a hospital chair.
This was the same Baek Chahyun who had locked him up without consent, who was planning to marry another woman.
He hated him—but he still found him lovable.
The emotions were incompatible, and he didn’t want to feel either.
Chahyun, having insisted to the doctor, now wrapped a cold pack around Yeonwoo’s ankle. Even as people in the hospital stole glances their way, he didn’t care in the slightest.
Watching him, Yeonwoo couldn’t help but think a weak thought—maybe it was just rut, maybe he’d been too overwhelmed, and this was all a mistake.
Please tell me that’s what it was, Chahyun.
He wanted to press him, plead, understand him.
Even though he knew he shouldn’t.
As Yeonwoo’s expression slowly hardened, Chahyun grew more careful with his hands, perhaps thinking it was because of the pain.
Once the cold pack was secure, Chahyun straightened and sat down beside him. He pulled Yeonwoo gently into his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
Yeonwoo didn’t resist and let himself lean against Chahyun’s shoulder.
“Still hurt?”
Chahyun whispered the question as he kissed the crown of his head, as if he felt sorry for him.
“…No.”
“Just hold on a little longer, even if it’s uncomfortable. I’ll apply a new cold pack again when we get home.”
He said it like it was second nature. Thinking back, Chahyun had always been the one most involved in his rehabilitation since the injury.
The lingering aftereffects were minor now. The fact that Yeonwoo could live normally was entirely thanks to him.
Which made his decision all the more bitter. The betrayal twisted in his stomach.
“Feels like we’re back at the villa.”
“……”
“Except the roles are reversed now.”
He was talking about the time when, suffering from pheromone imbalance, Chahyun would burn with fever or nausea.
Though Yeonwoo’s mother was technically his caregiver, on nights when she was asleep and he was sick, it was Yeonwoo who stayed by his side. So his mother wouldn’t wake.
He brought him medication, changed his sweat-drenched clothes, wiped him down, and nursed him all night.
When Yeonwoo stroked his hair, Chahyun would slowly fall asleep, even through the pain.
On better days, they’d go upstairs and fold paper airplanes, competing to see whose could fly farther. It was a childish game for middle schoolers, but Chahyun had enjoyed it more than anyone.
Maybe it was the stifling isolation—every bit of stimulation had meant more.
“…Yeah.”
Back then, Yeonwoo had always smiled and called him hyung. But when they reunited as university students, Chahyun never called him that again. He used “you,” or just his name.
“What about this?”
Yeonwoo suddenly remembered the hospital brochure he’d received earlier. He pulled it out of his pocket and folded it into a paper airplane. Chahyun let out a dry chuckle.
“Seriously? A paper plane?”
“Maybe you’re too old to enjoy it now.”
“Been too old for a while.”
“Yeah. You grew up too fast, Baek Chahyun.”
Yeonwoo mumbled like he regretted it. Chahyun snatched the plane from his hands and pulled him back in again.
Wrapped in his warmth, Yeonwoo inhaled deeply, breathing in his pheromones. Fidgeting, hesitating, he finally asked the question that had been eating at him.
“Why didn’t you come home yesterday or today?”
He felt Chahyun’s body stiffen.
“…I thought you wouldn’t want to see me.”
“I see.”
“Were you waiting?”
“……”
Yeonwoo’s lips went dry at the question.
He felt pathetic for still not being able to let go.
“Hong Yeonwoo, patient.”
Just as he was about to answer, a nurse called his name. Chahyun stood in his place once again.
“Let’s go home—not the officetel.”
Yeonwoo said as Chahyun returned with the prescription.
For a moment, Chahyun froze like he hadn’t expected it. Then he smiled.
“Okay.”
Seeing the way the corners of his lips lifted so freely made Yeonwoo’s chest ache.
He had grown into a hardened adult, but when he smiled like that, the innocent brightness of his youth came flooding back.
Knowing that there was still something of the old Chahyun left… made it harder.
***
The rustle of movement beside him made Yeonwoo open his eyes. Chahyun had gotten up first and was pulling clothes from the closet.
“…Work?”
Yeonwoo’s voice was still groggy. Chahyun turned toward the bed and nodded.
“Yeah. Ugh. Don’t wanna go.”
“……”
“How’s your ankle? Still hurt?”
Only then did Yeonwoo glance at it. The cold pack around the brace was warm—probably changed again by Chahyun during the night.
“A little.”
“Someone’ll come pick you up in the afternoon. For physical therapy.”
“What about you?”
“I’ve got work. Can’t go with you.”
Yeonwoo blinked slowly, the sleep not fully out of his eyes. Chahyun was holding a necktie. For some reason, he always looked grim when tying it—almost solemn.
Everything inside Yeonwoo had been tangled for days, but Chahyun was the same as ever. Even after confiscating his phone and locking him in the officetel, he seemed unfazed. It felt unfair.
“That woman.”
“Who?”
“The one you’re marrying.”
Chahyun stopped tying his tie and shot him a cold look.
“What’s her name?”
“Why?”
“I’m curious.”
“You wouldn’t know her even if I told you.”
The response was identical to his mother’s. It left a bitter taste in Yeonwoo’s mouth. Were people like him not even allowed to know a name? Their answers were cruel.
“You’re going to live with her when you get married, aren’t you?”
The mood chilled. Chahyun buttoned his jacket without a word.
“You could at least tell me that.”
Yeonwoo’s voice was smaller now—barely more than a murmur.
“We’re going to live separately. There’ll be a shared house for appearances, but…”
“I see.”
“It’s a political marriage. It’s necessary, that’s all.”
Yeonwoo buried his face in the pillow. He had asked the question—Chahyun had only answered—but it still hurt. He hated himself for it.
“That’s all it is. Nothing else. Okay?”
“……”
“Yeonwoo.”
“Call me hyung.”
Still buried in the pillow, Yeonwoo murmured. He could hear Chahyun approach.
A moment later, he felt himself being pulled into a back hug. Chahyun’s scent and pheromones surrounded him.
Chahyun pressed his lips to the nape of Yeonwoo’s neck, whispering his name again and again like a chant.
Then Yeonwoo asked softly,
“What about children?”
“Dunno. I don’t really care.”
Chahyun’s voice was detached, flat.
“So there’s no reason to be jealous.”
“……”
The anger Yeonwoo had been suppressing flared up again. He wanted to shove him off, punch that smug face.
But he’d learned that emotional outbursts didn’t work on Chahyun. So he didn’t act on it.
He thought back to the times they’d had sex. Chahyun had always been meticulous with contraception. If he said he wasn’t interested in kids, he probably meant it.
But that could change. If he had a child with the woman he married—if she got pregnant—things might be different. Not interested didn’t mean against it.
Just imagining Chahyun becoming someone else’s husband, someone else’s father, hurt more than he could bear. Like being stabbed.
He’d already decided to leave him. This was a useless attachment.
But Yeonwoo realized, again, just how much he still loved Baek Chahyun.
“Let me see your face.”
Chahyun whispered to the still-prone Yeonwoo, then gently turned his body.
Yeonwoo complied. Chahyun smiled, satisfied with the response, and climbed on top of him. His eyes burned with desire.
“I want you.”
“It’s morning.”
“How do you still manage to turn me on even in the morning? It’s your fault, Hong Yeonwoo.”
“…Don’t talk to me like that. I said call me hyung.”
“Because you’re my hyung, my dick’s hard first thing in the morning.”
With that vulgar line, Chahyun kissed him. Lips grazed his jaw, his neck, his collarbones—over and over.
“Fuck, you smell sweet.”
“Stop it.”
“Hm… But your pheromones are too faint. If your heat’s coming soon, this place should stink of it.”
Chahyun murmured against Yeonwoo’s collarbone, confused—but continued to lick and taste the pale skin anyway.